


Living on Instinct

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Character Death, Death and Rebirth, M/M, Reaper Stiles Stilinski, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Wolf Peter, Wolf Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 16:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11467224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: Peter never had such a wonderful friend as death.





	Living on Instinct

Every creature in the woods climbed their way to death. It wasn’t a metaphor but a literal fact of life. His parents had done it and someday so would the little black wolf. The climb always happened when no one else was around. They traversed the logs and raging rapids with whatever wounds or diseases cut their lives short. Of course, there was no way to prove this, only the row of bodies lining the topside of the mountain gave credence to the tale.

Knowing that the little black wolf couldn’t understand why anyone would ever start the climb. If it always ended in death, what was the point? Just refuse to go up the mountain and life can continue. It might have been painful, unpleasant, and harsh but at least it was his. With that mentality, he suffered through many cold, hungry winters and a dozen wounds that would have made a weaker wolf curl up whine until the urge to climb the mountain overtook them. For a while, the black wolf thought he had cheated death.

He lived to be in his twenties and for a wolf that was a long time. His body wasn’t what it had been when he was young. He spent more days hungry than not and years of ripping his paw pads on jagged rocks and being torn into by hungry bears had left its mark upon him. He trembled when he stood and his eyesight was nearly depleted. He survived another six months in that condition before the need to climb encircled him with tempting fingers.

As a pup, he’d thought of the climbing as a desire, a want, an urge, but it was nothing like that. It was like seeing the last puddle of fresh water in a desert. It was a need as strong as any other and so, with his legs quivering, his tail lowered, and his ears down he started to walk one paw after another up the steep and narrow trail lined by hundreds of paws before his.

His pads slipped a few times in the mud but he never fell far. It was like an invisible rope kept him tethered to the path and caught him when he started to slip. Looking down his greying muzzle he saw the forest finally split. He always thought he’d find a grave at the top, or maybe a clearing, but instead where two large crags that jutted into the sky. Between them stood a figure wearing a dark cloak with the hood drawn up over its head. Past the figure he could hear running water.

The figure turned towards him as he put his paw on the rock. He hadn’t realized how badly his entire body hurt, or how old he was until he saw the youth on the young boy’s face.

“Welcome home, buddy,” said the boy. He smiled and bent down on his knees. His face was marked by little brown moles. His eyes were as brown as the shady side of a tree and looked at him with the recognition and warmth of an old friend. 

The black wolf approached, feeling the creak in his bones and the pain in his shoulders as he walked closer, knowing his journey wasn’t quite over.

“I hope you don’t regret it. I know it’s not easy out there,” said the boy. His hand pressed to the wolf’s furry cheek, his slender little fingers tucking themselves into his fur. Just like that the pain that afflicted every muscle and joint was wiped out in a sudden flood of calm. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy his bodies absence of pain.

With a gentle press of his fingers the figure encouraged him to step forward.

The black wolf took his first painless step in years. Whoever the stranger was the wolf felt a warming in his heart that spread through his entire being and with his eyes he returned the young boy’s gentle smile.

The boy stood and together they walked towards the center of the crags where he could see a small wooden bridge leading to the other side. The gates beyond were filled with bright lights but they weren’t hard to look at. The light was calm, reassuring. 

“I wouldn’t look behind if I were you,” said the boy.

Having an ounce of defiance left in his old bones the wolf turned his head. His own body lay collapsed on the ground behind him. His eyes were dull and glazed over, his mouth gaped, his tongue touched the rock. He was dead. His heart would have stammered if there had been one in his ethereal chest.

“I told you,” said the boy with a click of his tongue.

The wolf turned his head from his corpse and back to the glowing lights. As he stepped onto the walkway his entire being shuddered and changed. He spasmed all the way through and when he stopped the body he possessed was different than the one he’d had before. Instead of having four legs with four paws he had two legs and two arms. The comforting fur that once wrapped him like a coat had fallen away in favor of soft skin and muscle tissue.

“Did you have a good time?” asked the boy he now recognized as Stiles. His Stiles. The Stiles who’d been meant to reap his soul but again and again guided him back to life instead.

“It was hard,” said Peter in a voice he recognized as his own. That’s right, Peter was the name given to him when he’d been human.

“Do you still want to go back?” 

“What would I be?”

“I don’t know,” said Stiles. “You should know that by now. Fifteen times we’ve done this. Nobody knows why you take the shapes you do when you go back, it’s just what happens.”

Peter looked down at the hands of his first form. He thought it was fitting his first was a werewolf, and his last a wolf. The lives lived between them he could hardly remember but they were all animals, living on instinct. He supposed it wasn’t a bad way to live.

“I can’t take you with me, can I?”

Stiles expression saddened. “No, but wherever you go and whatever you do I’ll follow you.” He held out a thin hand and pressed it to Peter’s cheek. He was always surprised by just how warm and tender death’s hands could be.

“I want to go back,” said Peter. “I’m not ready to die yet.”

“Then go,” said Stiles, “because I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.”

Stiles leaned close and kissed him on his lips. With that, his phantom body glowed and faded. His consciousness dulled as the ever-encompassing light surrounded him with its life-giving rays and sucked him back down into the world where the light coexisted with dark and happiness could be achieved even in pain. The last thing he felt was Stiles soft lips grazing his temple. 

Peter had never had such a wonderful friend as death.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked please leave a comment <3


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